Chapter 1

What the hell did I do to deserve this? That was the only thought that was running through my head. Over and over.

I was lying in bed, with a chain around my neck, waiting for the sunrise to start another crappy day. I closed my eyes and prayed to the Great Spirit and my ancestors, both Navajo and Shoshone, to let me die. I knew they wouldn’t answer my prayers. They hadn’t answered me for years.

Shortly after sunrise, one of the ladies would come and give me something that passed for food in the morning. I’d never call it breakfast, that would be an insult to eggs and bacon and toast. This was more like some corn tortilla, beans, and water.

Then the guys would start coming in. Carlos – if that was his real name – would be first. He was always first. He said he wanted me fresh in the morning. “Fresh” Ha! What a joke. I checked the marks on the wall. It would be another ten days until I was allowed to take a shower.

I looked through the bars and looked for the sun. It was still dark out there.

What the hell did I do to deserve this? My mind swam back through the years. The early years, growing up in that trailer behind the truck stop, was where my father dumped us. I never saw him again after I turned six. My father was a great warrior. At least, if getting drunk qualified as ‘great’ and if ‘warrior’ meant he could rob a gas station and run drugs in from Mexico. At least, Carla White – it grated on me to call her ‘mom,’ though technically that’s what she was – waited until I got my period before she rented me out to the truckers. I was thirteen. I still remember the first one. He was pretty good-looking: taller, he almost didn’t fit in the trailer, with a Fu Manchu mustache. I thought at the time he had a huge member. I know it hurt like hell when he stuck it in me.

The next day, there was another trucker. Carla ‘took care of’ his driving partner in the other bedroom while the fatter trucker shoved his cock in my mouth. It was gross. I tried to spit it out. but he held my head between his hands. And in a few strokes, he filled my mouth with his cum. I choked on it and spit it out.

From then on until she died, every Friday night and Saturday were the same. At least she didn’t make me ‘earn my keep’ on school nights. That’s what she called it: ‘earning my keep.’ Once on Friday night, and twice on Saturdays. I didn’t know what that patch was she made me wear until I was seventeen. Of course, it was birth control. I can’t imagine what she did for the doctor who prescribed it for a thirteen-year-old. I got out of high school and out of the trailer park while she was in the hospital. It was her liver. Considering how much she drank I could understand it.

I took what money was in the trailer and caught the bus for Las Vegas. What naiveté. To think that in Sin City USA, a seventeen-year-old could just hop off the bus and find a good job. Not a girl that looked like me, anyway. I was about 5’8”, with a B-cup and a flat belly. An Indian girl with long black hair and wide-spaced, almond-shaped eyes. Somebody who already knew how to fuck. Well, the first job I found was good-paying but came with its own ‘boss’. That was a pimp named Rufino. Ruffino took my last virgin hole – ‘breaking me in’ he called it – through the back door. And there was no day off. It didn’t take long for me to realize that maybe I was better off with Carla.